


Something New

by bauer



Series: Delta [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: Are we finally getting to...?





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> It's done, it's done, it's finally done! This puts a final cap on the Dylan/Mitch arc. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this series over the last... oy, seven months, I've appreciated it all so much. Please let me know about any embarrassing typos or forgotten tags, but this one is pretty light, comparatively. Biggest warning I can think of is the past mpregnation of a secondary character? And lets all pretend technology came to screeching halt and we aren't all gonna have smart phones embedded in our brains in ten years, k?
> 
> Summary a nod at The Airborne Toxic Event song with which this fic shares a title.
> 
> Important visual aides: [Roxie](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b5/c1/65/b5c16520141f431d71f1621dc3f0b3a2--pitbull-mom-karo.jpg) and [Lemons](http://cdn-www.dailypuppy.com/dog-images/ru-the-boston-terrier-mix-5_70904_2013-05-12_w450.jpg)

In the spring of 2027, Mitch gets traded for the second time. It’s a true loan this time; he’ll be an unrestricted free agent after Winnipeg gets eliminated, and he’s already gotten a couple calls assuring him that the Canucks would be open to having him back. Fair enough. He likes the looks of that Okereke kid.

The alert comes in early, so he gets nearly a full day’s warning before his new team expects him. Packing shouldn’t be too difficult. He’s gotten better at knowing what he needs, after moving back and forth for a couple years. The only problem is—

Mitch texts before heading next door and listens to Roxie’s barking until George cracks the door open. She comes bounding out and circles Mitch excitedly, tail wagging so hard it shakes her whole body.

“Yes, hi, hello, hi, I’m happy to see you, too,” Mitch coos as he herds her back inside, scratching down her sides as George closes the door behind them. They all end up on the the couch, Roxie using them both for cuddles.

“So, did you just come over to love on my dog?” George jokes, although that is definitely something Mitch has done before.

Mitch pulls the softness of Roxie’s ears through his fingers, her head a warm weight on his thigh, and answers, “I got traded.”

“Oh,” George says, shocked, ”that’s— _oh.”_

“Yeah,” Mitch responds.

“But you’re good. Like, one of their best, right? I know I’m not that great with sports shit but that _really_ doesn’t make any sense to me.”

He sounds offended on Mitch’s behalf, and Mitch isn’t so humble he can’t appreciate that. Still, he shrugs, and says, “It’s a business,” which is both true and easier than saying they’re _better_ but not by enough, and he’d rather do his part in a soft rebuild now than play through another few years bottom feeding. “Listen, I'll be fine, except…”

“... what?” George leads, equally hesitant.

“Can you watch Lemons for a few months?”

“Mitch—” George says, throwing his head back.

Mitch presses, “I can’t bring her with me, I don’t know where I’ll be staying or the daycare options, and she’ll be too cold, I’ll reimburse you for food and anything she destroys.”

“She’s an asshole, she’s gonna bully Roxie,” George whines, rolling his head side to side, eyes closed.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Mitch says automatically, defensive. “Listen, I can try to find a kennel if you can’t.”

Although, George does have a point, in the sense that Lemons doesn’t do well with other dogs in her space, most humans, change, or stress of any sort. Which is why he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

George hesitates, and then asks, “Can I talk about it with Victor first?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Mitch says. He starts to inch himself out from under Roxie’s beautiful, gigantic head. “Listen, you guys talk about it, I have to start packing—”

“Mitch, wait—” George jolts forward, grabbing onto his bare wrist as he tries to walk past. “Stay for dinner? We’re gonna miss you.”

“I leave at seven tomorrow, I really do have to get some shit together,” Mitch responds apologetically, truthfully.

“Alright. Jesus, that’s quick. We’ll let you know, okay?”

Lemons is yapping by the time Mitch gets back to their front door, and then purposely tries to kill him as he walks in by weaving around his ankles. “George was right about you,” he tells her as he tucks her under his arm. She settles happily with her little princess feet off the ground.

Packing is never a fun process, especially not when Mitch keeps having to answer incoming calls and texts, from a few journalist types looking for a quote and teammates he’s gotten close to over the last decade and from Mark Scheifele welcoming him to the Jets. It’s both irritating and a relief when someone comes knocking on his door, much to Lemons’ disdain.

“Wipe that look off your face, we brought pizza. Where are you based out of, your bedroom?” George says, slithering his long body past Mitch. Victor’s the one actually holding the boxes, raising them up with a chagrined look on his face. Mitch welcomes him with a bow.

They end up on Mitch’s bed, George casually sprawled half in Victor’s lap, Lemons curled up against his belly, the traitor, as Mitch flips through his t-shirts. Will he even _need_ them?

“So, we’ll take in the asshole until you can reclaim her,” George says around a mouthful of crust.

“Until something better becomes an option,” Victor corrects. The look on George’s face does a lot to undermine any weight it had, and Mitch is so, so grateful, smiling at them both.

 

Δ Δ Δ

 

The Jets make an exhausting, desperate fight into the Conference Finals, to get eliminated in six. It’s not Mitch’s team, not really, but the failure still stings. He doesn’t linger at the arena after. The hotel room he’s been staying at isn’t any more comforting, but at least it’s neutral territory.

 _Be home soon,_ Mitch texts from the hotel bed, after a long, hot shower.

He gets a photo Lemons poking out of the neck of Victor’s UBC sweatshirt in response, the human supporting her and trying hard not to smile in that way he does. **We didnt miss you**

Mitch smiles.

 

Δ Δ Δ

 

The Strome-Crouse wedding takes place in Las Vegas. It’s not even an elopement, which kind of defeats the purpose, if you ask Mitch. There are fair amount of family and friends Mitch didn’t know, but plenty of Toronto guys, Team Canada guys, Coyotes guys, too. He gets to watch Dylan cry as cameras click away. It’s a good time all around, especially once they get to the reception and everyone drops the formalities.

Mitch catches the happy couple by the pool, slaps hands with Dylan and says, “Congrats, man. Took you guys long enough.”

“You can tell Law that,” Dylan says, tired and tanned and fucking _ecstatic._

Lawson isn’t much worse off, even with the sour note he hits as he says, “Don’t start.”

Maybe it’s an old argument, though, because Connor cuts in quickly to ask, “So what have you been up to, Mitch?”

“Whaddya mean?” Mitch has an idea. Ever since he turned thirty last month, with a bare neck and empty wrists, it’s all people want to talk about. Connor’s probably been bonded as long as Mitch has been single, has a couple kids stowed away somewhere.

It throws him off track for his usual deflections whip Dylan picks up, “Yeah, what happened with those betas you were with?”

_“What?”_

“Yeah, what’re their names?” Dylan looks at Lawson, who shrugs, then continues, “Vinny and…?”

“Victor. And George.” Mitch doesn’t even remember bringing them up like that, but still— “Nah, it’s not like that. I’m chilling. Hey, you know what this little group reminds me of? That time Lawson ate a worm.”

The nostalgia sweeps them away, everyone laughing and rediverting their harassment towards Lawson. That weekend in the Florida everglades feels like lifetime ago, now.

 

“So, having fun in Sin City?” George’s folding himself into the frame of his webcam, curly hair made darker by his recent shower. Mitch can imagine how his skin can taste. The screen will have to do, until he gets back.

“Yeah.”

 _“Today?”_ he prompts, wriggling his eyebrows.

Mitch snorts. “Dylan would have killed me if I fucked around at his party. But, uh, the first night I got here…”

The story goes on until Victor comes back into frame and pulls George back, fits himself between George’s legs. They look good together, Victor shorter and paler but stocky. Firm. Mitch likes watching them like this, but after a certain amount of necking, he gets bored and whines, “Stop ignoring me, I could go watch some porn for this.”

Victor glances at the laptop and manhandles George until they’re both closer, near enough the mic can pick up what they’re saying well. He says, “Tell him what you were telling me.”

George turns his head towards the camera, towards Mitch, and asks, “Are you wet?”

 _“Yeah.”_ It’s a stupid question, honestly.

“I wish I could fuck you right now, while Vic—”

It goes on like that. Mitch doesn’t regret staying in for the night. They’re all tired afterwards, and none of them are into listening to someone fall asleep, so they go about saying their goodbyes quick. For a second, Mitch can’t remember if it’d be natural for him to say _love ya._

Fuck.

 

Δ Δ Δ

 

Mitch spends most of the summer in Vancouver. He tells himself it’s mostly because he doesn’t feel like moving again, but his family seems particularly disturbed by his recent birthday, and he’s not really interested in arguing over it. Van is another home to him, anyway, by now.

It also gives him more chances to visit Barrie’s fat baby out in fucking Victoria. Mitch says, “She got your nose.”

“Yeah, well, she got her daddy’s head, so fuck her,” Tyson responds, still cooing. Amelia doesn’t seem offended, gurgling and grabbing at the gold hanging around his neck. Mitch laughs. He’s gotten better at handling babies, as everyone around him started to pop them out.

Tyson looks tired, but good. Like he could still play again, if he wanted, if anyone would sign him. They both knew the changes were slim there. The Canucks’ front office keeps trying to work in maternal issues as an argument against another long term, to nudge the numbers where they want them to go. They’ve been good about omega things while he’s been on the team, and his agent isn’t going to let him get fucked over, but it’s still frustrating.

Tyson’s life is great in a lot of ways. Mitch is happy for him, but he isn’t jealous.

 

The thought comes to him when his agent starts asking for other teams he’d consider signing with. “Best case scenario, as bargaining chip.”

He doesn’t _want_ to sign somewhere else. He knows it’s something people have to do, frequently, but he’s already lost one city. Now, he’s older, he bought a house here, he has connections outside of hockey—

For three years, he’s lived next to Victor and George. They’ve been hooking up for about half of that. Victor and George have been together since grade eight, which isn’t something betas do unless they _love_ each other. Mitch doesn’t know how often they do thirds. If it’s something that matters to them.

Fuck, would it matter at all if Mitch left?

 

He calls Dylan, because this is all his fault. “Why do you think me and Victor and George are together?”

Dylan groans, and says, “I don’t know, man. You said you hooked up with them and then they kept coming up, sorry for assuming.” When Mitch didn’t respond, he groans, “Mitch.”

“They’re _married,_ I don’t—,” he gets out. Auston’s fine, now, moved far past Mitch and into his own life, but Mitch still gets a sickly wave whenever he thinks about what happened in Toronto, what he did in the past. “I don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

“Well, you kind of already are.”

“Ha ha.”

“Listen, Mitch, I don’t know what you want me to say. Are you looking for someone to tell you you don’t deserve it? Because I have some bad news for you, pal; you are completely irrelevant in my life. I don’t give a fuck what you do.” Mitch’s laugh is more genuine this time, and Dylan continues, “Seriously, Mitch, so much fucking time has passed. You’re not on the hook for being a shitty kid forever. Go get some new boyfriends if that’s what you want.”

“But I don’t _know_ if that’s what I want,” Mitch whines. He hadn’t been that young, just _stupid,_ and the thought of repeating those mistakes has kept the idea out of his head for a long time.

Dylan lets out a long breath right into the receiver, and then goes quiet long enough that Mitch can make out noise from the people around him, a crowd laughing and children screaming joyfully and the general ruckus of summer in suburban Toronto. It sends a twinge through Mitch’s chest.

Dylan says, “Hey, you know who _I_ think would be good to talk to about this?”

 

Their conversation is still on Mitch’s mind the next morning.

George works for home, keeps his own time, but Victor worked the sort hours that took planning around. Him and Mitch have had a regular jogging session on Saturday since Mitch first moved in on the other side of the fence. After, they let their dogs run around their neighborhood’s dog park as they plop themselves on a bench and sip at recovery smoothies. A few people are around, trying to beat the heat, but not so many Lemons gets overwhelmed by her sheriff duties, which is good.

It’s a highlight of Mitch’s weeks, without fail.

Lemons is sprawled out on her belly panting, Roxie sniffing an easy circle around them all, when Mitch asks suddenly, “Are we dating?”

He’s not sure how he expected that to go over, but he doesn’t like how Victor tenses next to him. It’s no good when you catch lawyer-types off guard. “What do you mean?”

Mitch leans forward and drags Lemons up into his lap, who growls at the disturbance before settling again. “I dunno. The three of us. What we do.”

He realizes how much he wants to know the answer until the silence stretches on, broken by passing cars and the occasional bark. Anxiety spikes in his stomach, the first of this kind in a long while. “Listen, I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, Lemons is tired, I should just—”

Victor catches his arm before Mitch can make his escape and promises, “We’re going to talk about this.”

 

Δ Δ Δ

 

When Mitch makes it out to Toronto, it’s not Chris’ week with the kids, but they make a trip of it, Rachel and her new alpha and her kid and Chris and his girlfriend and Mitch’s nieces. They’re a delightfully loud group of people. Lemons has to wear a life vest that she resents. It should be a solid distraction.

His phone buzzes.

 

> **Where are you?**
> 
> _Visiting family in Ont_
> 
> **Ur so unbelievably bothersome**

Fuck. Okay.

 

Δ Δ Δ

 

Roxie is good at telling when her people are stressed. Usually, this means curling around George’s feet or clinging to Victor before important court dates. Today, she weighs down Mitch’s lap like a safety bar, tail wagging occasionally as he pets a hand down her back. He watches her eyes starting to droop as she starts to fall asleep. They’ve been at this for awhile.

“We’re just trying to figure out what you from us, Mitch,” Victor forces out, strained. Mitch didn’t want this to be a fight, and it’s not, not quite, not yet, but his skin still feels scrubbed raw.

“Nothing. This. Just—” Mitch scrunches up the extra skin on Roxie’s neck then flattens it out again. “It took long enough to this contract that I had to think about living somewhere else, and I didn’t want to go and leave you guys behind.”

“So, what, you just want to keep being our neighbor that we fuck?” George says, eyes skyward. Mitch couldn’t see his hand, but he could imagine it behind Victor’s back, scratching a light line against his back. A nervous tic.

Mitch breathes deeply, and responds, “Yeah, basically! I’m not saying I want to go down to the courthouse and merge households, just an acknowledgment of what we’re doing. If we’re doing it.” And isn’t that a fucking thought, that just saying the thing would break it.

Victor rubs a hand over his face, and says, “Mitch, I feel like we’re working with different sets of romantic expectations here.”

“So?”

 _“So,_ this is going going to take effort, if you want this to a long term, purposeful thing. Whatever that might entail.”

Mitch looks at the two men sitting across from and thinks of how things have gone in the last year, how he wants things to go in the future, and thinks a little effort wouldn’t be a hardship.

**Author's Note:**

> [NSFW tumblr, for questions and such](http://ratbarnaby.tumblr.com)


End file.
